


the bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship

by olive2read



Category: Society of Gentlemen - K. J. Charles, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - William Blake
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, (sort of), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Also Sexual Kink, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blake's Poetry as a Narrative Device, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Introspection, Kink Negotiation, M/M, No Beta We Die Like the Cato Street Conspirators, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Oral Sex, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olive2read/pseuds/olive2read
Summary: Silas is chafing in his position and having feelings, including anxiety. David fixes it because fixing things is what David does.
Relationships: Dominic Frey/Silas Mason, Silas Mason & David Cyprian, background David Cyprian/Richard Vane
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	the bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arsenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/gifts).



> the right justified lines preceding each paragraph are from "Proverbs of Hell" which is where the first bit of Blake in ASA comes from (and the title of this work as well). as such, they are not technically part of the text and don't need to be read to understand the story. I talk more about them in the end notes but wanted to put this here so it's clear up front that you can skip them if they don't work for you!

_in seed-time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy_

Silas was having a shitty week. If he was being honest with himself, there had been rather a long string of them over the past few months, but this one in particular was getting under his skin, burrowing deep and evading all his attempts to stop it. It was starting to feel like it’d be more satisfying to cut the infected limb off entirely, at least until he remembered that his feelings were the ‘limb’ in this analogy.

_drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead_

He wanted Dom and, however true it was that he _had_ him in all the figurative ways that mattered, it was still hard not having him physically present. He understood, of course he did, that Dom’s sense of duty meant he couldn’t be happy frittering his life away as a perpetual guest at his friend’s country house—even if that friend was Richard and that country house played regular host to the Ricardians, not to mention it also being where Silas himself currently lived.

_the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom_

He also understood that he’d chosen this life for himself and, if given the choice to make anew, he’d choose it again. Overall, he was content. He enjoyed country living more than he’d anticipated; Dom had been right when he’d suggested a break from the frantic pace of his radicalism would do him good. Besides which, he enjoyed plotting new ways to leverage bloody Richard’s power to the advantage of his fellow man, which came with the added bonus of undermining the sod’s paternalistic moralising. If nothing else, it was another fun game to play with David when they’d had their fill of backgammon.

_prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by incapacity_

When David made time for him, anyhow. Which felt a bit unfair, considering. The sly fox was everywhere, constantly, seeming always to know who and what needed his attention. Which, apparently, included Silas and his loneliness when Dom wasn’t around and, sometimes, when he was if there were other guests. It didn’t seem to matter if the guests were members of the Vane family, a house party, or a gathering of the Ricardians. The latter, at least, ought to have been more understanding of their relationship but he’d learned early on not to look for sympathy from that corner.

_he who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence_

He shifted his shoulders, trying to relieve the discomfort. Dom was completely, utterly his. It didn’t matter how he spent their time apart. It didn’t matter that he was part of a world that Silas not only didn’t belong to, but wasn’t welcome in. It didn’t matter that their relationship existed in this awkward limbo, known to all the Ricardians and yet unacknowledged except in private.

_the cut worm forgives the plough_

Except. It did matter. Of _course_ it fucking did. He’d traded in his life, and his friends, and his shop, and-and his fucking principles—and he’d done it gladly, and would do it again in a flash—to protect Harry, yes, but he’d really done it for Dom. For his beloved hypocrite of a Tory, who spent hours debating morality and ethics and justice with him—the best hours of Silas’s life, truth be told, apart from the hours he spent lovingly destroying Dom in all the ways he so desperately craved—and yet also spent hours debating morality and ethics and justice with _out_ him. Because the Ricardians were _gentlemen_ and Silas was not welcome in their glittering ranks.

_dip him in the river who loves water_

No. _He_ was expected to know his place. To wait patiently for the moment Dom might deign to grace him with his presence, never until after he was finished with his _actual_ friends, of course. Which was more than a bit unfair, considering that Dom always came directly to him when he arrived and had, on more than one occasion, spent his entire visit in Silas’s company, the rest of the Ricardians be damned. That didn’t stop it feeling uncomfortably like Dom was yet another lord and master he had to pretend to serve. 

_a fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees_

He knew that Dom didn’t believe his exclusion from their ranks was just, or fair, or _right_ —and it wasn’t as though Silas desired to spend time in their company, any more than they wanted him to—but it hurt something deep in Silas’s core to know that Dom’s principles didn’t extend to requiring that their connection be recognised. He knew public recognition would be folly and he didn’t want that, not really. He was just so tired of always being the odd man out and, if they couldn’t be themselves surrounded by Dom’s dearest friends, what hope did they have, long term?

_he whose face gives no light shall never become a star_

Harry was part of their world by birth and had acclimated so completely one would never know he’d lived so much of his life outside it. David was Richard’s spy-master, as well as his valet, and that role granted him admittance and respect, however grudging, from the broader group. Silas was just the bookman.

_eternity is in love with the productions of time_

His existence right now was centred on specious occupation in service to a man he despised. He’d toyed with the idea of becoming Dom’s valet, knowing they’d both appreciate the irony of that. It would have had to be in name only, however. Silas may have been an expert in serving _his_ gentleman but he didn’t know the first thing about serving _a_ gentleman. He envied David’s position, and what it meant for his relationship with Richard, but he was in no place to adopt it, however appealing the idea.

_the busy bee has no time for sorrow_

It should have been preposterous. Richard was—in many ways, despite his efforts to adapt and reform—the antithesis of everything Silas stood for. But... he was _here_. David got to spend the bulk of every day in his company, at his beck and call where David best loved to be. Silas, on the other hand, was forced to accept the few scraps of Dom’s time he was willing to spare every few weeks.

_the hours of folly are measured by the clock, but of wisdom no clock can measure_

He wanted Dom and it chafed that he couldn’t have him. This had been their longest separation since he’d grudgingly accepted the post as Richard’s bookman. He should have known that the Board of Taxes would be a snarled tangle Dom wouldn’t be able to resist setting right—well, to his version of ‘right’ at least—but understanding all of this _rationally_ didn’t seem to translate into calm equanimity where his feelings were concerned.

_all wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap_

It’s not as though he was starved for company. The other servants treated him well but he didn’t have much in common with them, though that was slowly beginning to change now that Maggie, one of the housemaids, had implemented a monthly book discussion group. The first few meetings had been awkward and uncomfortable for everyone but, as he’d learned more about them and their tastes, his recommendations for reading material were improving. The last meeting had been full of laughter and lively discussion, lasting long into the night, and it had made him miss Will and Jon fiercely.

_bring out number, weight, and measure in a year of dearth_

He spent most of his evenings reading in companionable silence with Maggie, Siobhan—cook’s assistant and Maggie’s sweetheart—who had a never-ending pile of mending, and Clement—first footman—who tended to help with the mending, at least when he wasn’t in the village pub, batting his pretty eyelashes at anyone and everyone. Some nights they’d play a round of billiards or all fours. 

_no bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings_

When ~~the fuckster~~ _his lordship_ —and, even in his head, he said the words with a sneer—was in residence, he and David played backgammon as David caught him up on all the Ricardians gossip and the progress of his ongoing scheming. He got more of David’s time than anyone, apart from his precious lord and master, and he appreciated that. He did.

_a dead body revenges not injuries_

He just... He was tired of having to wait on someone else’s indulgence. However delightful it could be to take his impatience out on Dom when they were together, he wanted to stop _needing_ to do so. He was brimming over with resentment, constantly on the verge of it spilling out into other areas of his life, and holding himself together was fucking exhausting. It wasn’t just Dom’s time with the Ricardians, or his time in London doing his duty to King and country. His visits to Arrandene had gradually been growing shorter, the time between them growing longer.

_the most sublime act is to set another before you_

It had started innocuously enough, some nonsense with the Board of Taxes that had dragged on longer than Dom had anticipated and left him worn, and ragged, and needing to recuperate in London before coming to visit Richard in the country. Well, Richard and Silas.

_if the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise_

Then the Ricardians planned house party had been forced to change location at the last minute due to Ash having some kind of emergency. The details were rather vague and, truth be told, he hadn’t really listened beyond the point he’d learned Dom wasn’t coming.

_folly is the cloak of knavery_

He’d been telling himself that it didn’t mean anything. It was a few instances of bad luck that in no way reflected on Dom’s feelings about him or what they shared. His faith in Dom was unshakeable.

_shame is pride’s cloak_

And yet.

_prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion_

It wasn’t so much a lack of faith as a growing feeling that he needed Dom much more than Dom needed him. That, perhaps, Dom had come to consider Silas and, by extension, their relationship as a treat he got to have during his visits to the country—much like their favourite Tokay. An indulgence that one enjoyed under certain circumstances, as opposed to the plain claret one drank at home.

_the pride of the peacock is the glory of god_

For all that the Tokay was gloriously golden and smooth, it wasn’t him. He might have been forced to accept “respectable” employment. He might have been given clothing of higher quality and a more fashionable cut as a condition of that employment. He might even—after David had subjected him to one-too-many long suffering sighs and pointed remarks about the standards of Lord Richard’s service—have allowed the vulpine valet to teach him a better way to shave, leaving his skin smooth and soft when he bothered to make the effort. None of that had changed who he was.

_the lust of the goat is the bounty of god_

David was a magician in many ways, but even he wasn’t an alchemist. Pouring cheap wine into a fancy bottle didn’t transform its baser nature.

_the wrath of the lion is the wisdom of god_

Besides, he _liked_ being claret or, more accurately, the lowest rot-gut gin one could get. He had no desire to be an indulgence for Dom. He wanted to be the thing you kept buying, even once you could afford better, because you’d grown to love it. He wanted to be the thing, the _person_ , Dom had every night. The person he turned to for support, the person he reached for. And that still was, as it had ever been, bloody _Richard_.

_the nakedness of woman is the work of god_

It had been one thing when all they’d had was their anonymous Wednesdays. Then they’d both had active, fulfilling lives. Now, Dom had his life and Silas had... “respectable” employment. Employment that would soon be coming to and end.

_excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps_

Despite the futility of devising a system for books few people in the household read or cared about, as the tastes in Maggie’s group generally didn’t include the sorts of pretentious titles a lord kept in his library for appearances, he had done it. The libraries were organised. The catalogue was complete. There was very little left for him to do. He knew he was in no danger of losing his position in Richard’s household, whether there was anything for him to do or not, but the idea of being stuck here—entirely dependent on Richard’s charity—without even a task to occupy him was a bleak one.

_the roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man_

He’d been grumbling and moody for days, anger and resentment and jealousy swirling in his heart, and it was only getting worse. He was being brutish and boorish and petulant. He’d been banished to the library by David after he’d snapped at Jamie this morning, and sent the poor lad running away in tears. Fidgeting in his clothes and pacing holes in the carpets was burning off some of his restless energy, but nowhere near enough.

_the fox condemns the trap, not himself_

He needed to see Dom. He was well aware that he shouldn’t, that Dom’s physical presence shouldn’t carry more weight than his promises... but, for whatever reason, it did. Not that it mattered, seeing as he couldn’t have it. He turned sharply when his circuit reached the desk and the thump of a slight weight against his hip reminded him he’d pocketed his well-loved copy of _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell_ this morning. Even if he couldn’t have Dom, he still had Blake, whose writing always seemed to soothe his ragged edges. Perhaps he could relax into the calming comfort of Blake’s wild, radical words.

_joys impregnate, sorrows bring forth_

He added a log to the fire, and sat down in his favourite armchair, pulling the book from his pocket. Normally he’d just let his eyes drift across the pages until something jumped out at him. Today, however, his eyes kept darting aimlessly about, the text blurring under them. He flipped back and forth, back and forth, hoping his eyes would find something to settle on. He wasn’t aware of just how roughly he was handling the pages until one of them tore.

_let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep_

It hurt his heart—a genuine, physical stab—as though he’d torn something far more significant than a scrap of paper with some printed text. He stared down at it, at where his fingers were already attempting to smooth it over without his conscious volition.

> attraction and repu/ /lsion  
>  reason and ene\ \rgy  
>  lov/ /e and hate  
>  are neces\ \sary to human existence

_the selfish smiling fool and the sullen frowning fool shall be both thought wise that they may be a rod_

If it had been clean, he could probably have fixed it. He didn’t mind books with a little wear and tear, after all. It wasn’t though. It was jagged and uneven, slightly puckered in places, and his efforts to set it to rights only seemed to make it worse. An apt metaphor for his current situation if ever there were.

_what is now proved was once only imagined_

For a moment, he considered tossing the ruined volume on to the fire. If he’d truly sunk so low that a torn page upset him to the point of feeling weepy and maudlin, better to burn it to ash and start fresh with a new copy. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear the thought of destroying anything that connected him to Dom, however tenuous that connection felt at present.

_the rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots; the lion, the tiger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits_

Not to mention that he had no idea when or how he’d be able to acquire another. There was one here but it wasn’t _his_. Richard had said he was welcome to read anything in the library and he’d gladly taken him up on that, one of the very few perks of his position. Dom had, of course, ensured that the Arrandene library contained at least one copy of everything Blake had written. But... Blake was so inextricably woven into his relationship with Dom that reading Richard’s copy felt uncomfortably like bringing bloody Richard into it, and the big nobleman already occupied far too much space in their lives.

_the cistern contains, the fountain overflows_

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear off his uncomfortable new clothing and rip it to shreds for daring to be neither as new nor as uncomfortable as it used to be, which was part of the problem. He wanted to punch something, no—he wanted to punch _someone_. He wanted to plant that prig a facer, to blacken bloody Richard’s smug fucking eyes, even if it meant David would kill him. He wanted to punch and kick and tear at him, until he was as messy and as ugly as Silas felt.

_one thought fills immensity_

It didn’t matter that Richard was only tangentially at fault. He represented everything that was wrong with this country and he did it proudly. Plus, _someone_ needed to hold him accountable for all the years he’d been shitty to Dom. For all that he knew Dom wouldn't appreciate it, Silas definitely felt he had cause. If it had changed, if Richard had made any effort to understand his supposed best friend, that might mean something. But, though he was better at hiding it now, his "moral" distaste was still very much present when he looked at Dom and tore at something deep in Silas that he was expected to let it pass.

_always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you_

He needed to get out of here. He stood up, tossing his book on to the desk and only cringing a little when it flopped open, the torn page waving forlornly at him. He strode to the door that led outside, intending to run out into the park, to find a place where no one would hear him or see him, and just unleash all his pent-up frustration. There had to be a pond around here somewhere, else how could _his lordship_ hold his head higher than the rest of the tossers at his _club_? Surely, if his head was under water that would muffle the sound sufficiently and he could scream himself hoarse.

_everything possible to be believed is an image of truth_

He heard a _tsk_ behind him as his hand closed over the handle and turned to find David next to him, regarding him critically. He hadn’t heard him come in or felt him get close but, then, that was hardly surprising. He was looking at Silas, shaking his head with an air of regret that set Silas’s teeth on edge.

~

“This will never do.”

“What won’t?”

David sighed and glanced back at the desk, at the book still open to the torn bit of The Argument. “I rather expected that you would take more care with books than you do with your lover. You're lucky that volume wasn't part of Lord Richard's collection.”

The fury inside him boiled over and Silas opened his mouth to protest. David swiftly shoved a pair of handkerchiefs inside, then promptly placed his palm over them so that Silas couldn’t simply spit them out.

“Trust me, Mason. This is for your own good.”

Silas glowered up at him but David was unimpressed. He didn’t even bother to raise an eyebrow. They both knew that Silas could easily overpower him and, while that idea was incredibly tempting just now, Silas _did_ trust him. Well, for a given value of trust at least. He jerked his head in a rough nod and David removed his hand, extracting yet another handkerchief from his pocket to clean it with.

“Now then, Mason,” he said, crisply, in the voice he used when giving orders that were expected to be followed without question. He almost never used that tone with Silas but you couldn’t spend any amount of time in David’s company without hearing him employ it to coordinate some plan or other he’d concocted. “What do you need?”

Silas glared at him.

“Clearly you are in need of a more, hmm, _forceful_ relaxation method than reading and backgammon. I won't have you upsetting the staff and bringing disharmony into Lord Richard's home, just because you're in need of a good fucking or possibly a good thrashing. This will be easier on everyone if you tell me what it is you need so that I can provide that service and restore order to my house. I have a vague idea of the activities you and Mr. Frey engage in but very little knowledge of your specific preferences.”

Silas’s mouth dropped open, flabbergasted. “Are you-are you _honestly_ offering to fuck me?”

David sneered and rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. I am aware your relationship with Mr. Frey is not exclusive but, while that might seem to be the most expedient way to serve Lord Richard’s interests, I have the distinct feeling it would still upset Mr. Frey, which would then upset Lord Richard, thereby undoing any short-term benefit.”

Silas felt a wave of relief. He didn’t _actually_ think David would force him to do anything... but he wasn’t entirely sure of his chances if David ever decided that was what needed to be done to further Richard’s interests. And, although he did, now and then, enjoy bringing others into his play with Dom it was entirely for Dom's benefit and always done with Dom’s presence and permission—as it involved him being humiliated and used in all the ways he liked best. Whatever the broader benefits David might be hoping to achieve, however uncertain Silas felt about his place in Dom's life right now, that wasn't something he was willing to do.

“I see. And I suppose whether or not I want to fuck you isn’t even a factor here?”

“It is beside the point,” David said, impatience bleeding into his tone, “as we’ve already established it isn’t a viable option. Which brings us back to my question. What do you need?”

Silas didn’t know what to say to that. The obvious answer, and his preference, was not available to him at the moment and he wasn't sure where that left him. “Erm. What, exactly, is on offer?”

“Frankly, anything that will improve your mood without being a cause for concern for Lord Richard or Mr. Frey,” David replied promptly.

“Everything I do is a cause for concern for Lord Richard,” Silas grumbled.

David curled his lip. “Believe me, Mason, I am aware of that. Let me worry about Lord Richard’s concerns. That is, after all, _my_ area of expertise.”

Silas rolled his eyes but had to concede the point. A moment passed in contemplative silence, while he tried furiously to think of what he could ask David to do that wouldn't infringe on what he had with Dom. Then another, as his head spun round and round and he made no progress. David pointedly pulled out his watch and checked it.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mason. I have cleared the next few hours in order to be at your disposal but that doesn’t mean I wish to waste any more of my time or yours than is strictly necessary.”

Silas looked away. David was such a shit when he was being protecting Richard's interests. “I don’t know, damn you. I haven’t done anything like this with anyone but Dom, and even we’ve not done anything that wasn’t connected to fucking.”

“Hmmm, I see.” David seemed to turn the problem over in his head a few times before saying, “I have an idea, but you’ll need to trust me. Completely.”

~

_the eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow_

Silas wanted to shoot back that he couldn't possilby trust him when he had that look in his eyes. He refrained, somehow, but only just. Partly because it wasn’t entirely true. And partly because it wasn’t as though any of his own efforts, such as they were, had been successful at pulling him out of this funk. It might just be worth giving the foxy bastard a chance to help, however distasteful the idea.

_the fox provides for himself, but god provides for the lion_

Which is how, two hours later, he found himself naked, bound, gagged, and blindfolded with some kind of waxy wool stuffed into his ears. Of all of it, the naked was the most recent, the most troubling, and the most surprising. They’d established that David had no interest of that sort in him, that he felt similarly, and that it wouldn’t serve Lord Richard.

_think in the morning, act in the noon, eat in the evening, sleep in the night_

David unwound Silas’s cravat, folded it a bit, and then placed it over Silas’s eyes. Silas had jerked away from him and objected, loudly and strenuously. David had reminded him that he’d promised to trust the process and he’d reluctantly agreed, only to find himself being bound and then his other senses blocked. The last thing he needed right now was to be stuck inside his own head with no way to know what was going to happen. The idea that Dom didn’t know about this either, and that he was apparently going to be doing this naked, despite what they’d talked about made Silas’s insides squirm.

_he who has suffered you to impose on him knows you_

He sat there, practically vibrating from the tension of holding himself still, waiting for David to do something to him. His mind was racing and spinning, creating scenario after scenario and each worse than the last. Every slight sound his ears strained to hear through the wax was both muffled and oddly amplified. Every shift in the play of light and shadow felt significant. Every whisper of air around his body made his muscles tense, bracing for an impact that never came.

_as the plough follows words, so god rewards prayers_

As more time passed, and nothing continued to happen, his body slowly began to unwind itself. His shoulders stopped crowding his ears. His lungs took in more air. His gut unclenched, the slight nausea he hadn’t even been aware of until now subsiding.

_the tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction_

He closed his eyes, relaxing further into the darkness. He felt boneless—no, more than that, he felt weightless, suspended in fog. It was as though he was no longer constrained by his physical self. He expanded into the room around him, the edges of his perception growing. He wondered if this new sensory input would allow him to discern David’s location in the room, as he couldn’t have gone far. It didn’t matter, however. It’s not as though he urgently needed to know. He was beginning to realise nothing was as urgent as he’d previously thought. He struggled to understand what he’d been so worried about.

_expect poison from the standing water_

He shouted past the gag and jerked his hips violently as a mouth closed around his cock—warm, wet heat engulfing his entire flaccid length. The sensation was shockingly intense, amplified and unexpected as it was. He threw his body about as best he could, fighting against that mouth, which cling to him with determination. He was pulled back against a warm, firm, cloth-covered surface... a body, someone’s chest. Which meant, oh gods, that meant there was someone _else_ here—someone _besides_ David. Who... what was happening?

_you never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough_

He bucked again, struggling against his bonds, bringing his legs up in an attempt to dislodge the anonymous mouth currently wrapped around his cock, working him gently, lavishing him with care. A pair of arms encircled him from behind, and a head came to rest on his shoulder. He could tell the person was saying something but he couldn’t make it out through the wool in his ears. The cadence, however, was all-too familiar and his nostrils flared, filling with the scent of that Foxy fuck’s bloody hair powder.

_listen to the fools reproach; it is a kingly title_

He stopped fighting instantly, calmed by both the scent and the rhythm of the words he still couldn’t quite make out. Even David—crafty as he was—would never have forced someone on the staff to suck Silas’s prick, and he absolutely would never have sullied his lord and master’s pretty lips in such a manner, hoever often Silas crudely suggested the prig do just that.

_the eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth_

So. If David was the person behind him, there was really only one pair of lips that could be sliding up and down his length. Only one gorgeous mouth that could be surrounding him in slick, velvet warmth. Only one precious throat that could be ruining itself, gagging and choking on his cock—which was filling rapidly with the knowledge. He didn’t know _how_ —and a small part of his brain was spinning with the puzzle pieces that didn’t seem to fit no matter how he tried to connect them—but the idea that Richard was somehow greedily sucking his cock was even more impossible than Dom having materialised out of the aether to do so.

_the weak in courage is strong in cunning_

Dom was working him slowly, clearly trying his best to be sweet and loving, to give Silas the care he so rarely permitted himself. Somehow David had got Dom, _his_ Dom, to come. It didn't matter how or why, all that mattered was that Dom was here with him, that he hadn't lost him. And with that thought, every feeling he’d been holding back surged within him. Regardless of Dom's intentions, or what pace he established, or how gentle his touch, Dom was as powerless as ever to control Silas's ferocity. His cock had barely finished stiffening before he was coming hard and fast down Dom’s throat.

_the apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion the horse how he shall take his prey_

He felt David’s fingers ruffling his hair as he murmured something unintelligible, then a squeeze on his shoulder and David was gone. Dom kissed him, then. Softly, his lips dancing around the edges of Silas’s, but never quite coming to land. Silas inhaled his scent greedily.

_the thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest_

Dom slid his hands up Silas’s chest, then pulled the wool out from his ears, kissing each one in turn. Instead of removing the blindfold, his hands moved around to Silas’s back and along his arms, then began to undo his bindings, kissing his face, along the edge of his jaw, the tip of his nose, then his chin. It was the ~~worst~~ best sort of torture and reminded Silas of the night he’d thought would be their last Wednesday, all those months ago. The night Silas had forced Dom to let him love him because he’d feared he’d otherwise never have the chance.

_if others had not been foolish we should have been so_

He could tell by the slow, teasing way Dom was working the knots that Dom expected him to pounce as soon as he was free. It was so rare that he got to have this side of Dom, however, that he wasn’t ready for it to end. Besides, Dom had never been especially good at playing the brat—he was far too earnest in everything he did.

_the soul of sweet delight can never be defiled_

So when Silas finally got his arms back, he used them to pull Dom down into his lap, to return in kind every kiss and caress. He could feel Dom’s hardness against his belly, as well as his own cock already trying to stiffen again—as though he still possessed the energy and stamina of a much younger man—and he ignored both of them.

_when thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius. lift up thy head!_

They stayed like that, content to take their time in mapping the familiar contours of each other’s bodies, for a while. It was hard to say just how long, time seemed to be moving differently now that he had Dom in his arms, and when it came right down to it, he didn’t care how long. He could spend hours loving Dom and he knew David would ensure they weren’t disturbed.

~

At some point, Dom pulled back. He met and held Silas’s gaze.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away so long,” he said.

Silas’s chest expanded with what felt like his first deep breath in months, the vise that had been constricting ever more tightly around his heart finally releasing. Dom smiled at him and kissed him lightly, then wandered over to the side board and poured each of them a drink.

He handed both to Silas, then proceeded to strip off his clothing, showing none of his usual reluctance or desire to be forced. Fuck, he was so beautiful. Skin pale in the firelight, dark hair gleaming. His stand pointing at Silas like a compass finding true north. His smile, radiant as he watched Silas watching him.

He folded everything neatly and set it atop a chair, removing a small bottle from one of his pockets, then came back to where Silas still sat and knelt at his feet. He accepted his glass, clinking it against Silas’s before taking a sip with a happy sigh and setting it and the little bottle of oil aside. He leaned in and kissed the inside of Silas’s thighs, first one and then the other, curling his fingers into the hair where his lips had been as he worked his way toward Silas’s cock.

“What are you doing?” Silas asked, his voice hoarse.

Dom grinned up at him. “Giving you what you need.”

Silas choked at the echo of David’s earlier words. It was so unlike Dom to take charge like this, and it was doing interesting things to Silas’s insides. Good things. Making it hard for him to think. “But, but _why_? How are you here?”

Dom paused, straightening up to look at Silas. “I was already nearly here when Cyprian sent his note. I think this may have been the first time he’s ever been genuinely glad to see me.”

“What note? You-you were coming? Here?” Silas asked, feeling something in his chest tighten again. “I didn’t know...” he stopped, not sure how to articulate this without revealing just how much it hurt that no one, not even Dom himself, had bothered to tell him.

Dom came closer, his body pressing Silas’s legs wider, and took Silas’s face in his hands. “Yes, here. To see _you_ , of course.” He gave that a moment to sink in, then nodded at whatever he saw in Silas’s face. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve missed you desperately and, once I’d decided to come, I couldn’t wait any longer, not even to send a note on ahead. It seems I came just in time as well, if Cyprian’s note is to be believed. Did you really make poor, sweet Jamie cry?”

“Dom, I—”

“Shhhhh,” Dom soothed. “I know. I’m sorry, love. It’s been dreadful, having to be away for so long. I’d thought to come last week but then a somewhat urgent opportunity presented itself and I’ve only just finished all of the blasted paperwork.”

“An opportunity?”

Dom kissed him, his hands once more sliding along Silas’s thighs. “Mmmmm,” he said, into Silas’s mouth.

Silas let himself get lost in Dom for a moment, in his hungry mouth, no longer soft, in his greedy hands, both fisted around Silas’s cock and beginning to pump. If he waited too long, though, he was going to come and ruin any remaining chance for rational thought. Part of him wondered if that’s what Dom wanted. He pulled back from the kiss, gasping.

“Dom,” he panted. “What opportunity?”

Dom grinned at him again. “I’ve bought a house. A small one, but there are still a few more rooms than I need, so I’ve decided to take a lodger.”

He continued but Silas couldn’t hear past the roaring in his ears. A lodger. While Silas been rotting away in the country, pining for this beautiful man, he’d been buying houses and finding a fucking lodger. It made sense. Silas was unlucky to be able to afford whatever rent Dom would set, however fair, even if he could somehow bring himself to keep receiving a salary from Lord fucking Richard once there was no longer any more work to be done on the Vane libraries. It made sense.

It hurt like hell. His head spun as he stood, stumbling away from Dom, a little dizzy. He looked around the room, disorientated. What the fuck had David done with his clothes? He could hear Dom calling his name but he didn’t dare look at him. He didn’t trust himself not to give the man another black eye.

Not finding his clothes, he picked up his rumpled cravat-cum-blindfold and wrapped it around himself, then turned toward the door.

The door which was currently blocked by one very confused and concerned Dominic Frey.

“Silas? What’s wrong? Are you alright? What happened? Should I call Cyprian?”

Cyprian. That fuck.

“Does he know?”

Dominic blinked at him. “Cyprian? Know what?”

Silas ground his teeth together. “Does he know about the house? Th-the lodger?”

Dominic nodded slowly. “Of course he does. I’ve been hoping to find something like this for some time but I haven’t had much time to look. He was the one who sent me the listing.”

Silas was going to kill him. There was nothing for it. It was a shame, he'd liked the foxy cove well enough, but this could not be borne. “And the lodger? Did he arrange that for you as well?”

Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Well, yes, of course. That was the whole reason I wanted to find a house. Silas, I don’t understand. What’s wrong? I thought you’d be pleased? I know you’ve missed London and—”

"That _I've_ missed—”

Suddenly everything clicked into place and Silas could feel himself flush. He cut Dom off with a kiss, trying to convey his joy and relief and an apology all at once.

“Sorry,” he said, when he finally released Dom’s mouth. “I’ve missed you and I’ve been worried you... well, I’ve missed you. So. This lodger, then. Rough sort, name of Mason?”

Dom wrapped himself tightly around Silas. “None other, my own beloved brute. I need you with me, in a place that's ours alone. Somewhere we can dine together, instead of being forced apart for the sake of fragile sensibilities. Somewhere we don't have to sneak into and out of each other's rooms as though our connection doesn't merit sharing like everyone else's. I’m sorry it's taken me so long to find a way to have that, to have _you_ , without risking you, or the Ricardians." He nuzzled his face into Dom's neck. "I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, Cyprian did say, but I was so pleased with the thought of surprising you.”

~

_as the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys_

A house. Dom had bought them a house. In London. With David's help, sure, but a house for them alone. Silas's heart felt ready to burst from his chest. He opened his mouth to tell Dom to stop apologising, then got a better idea.

~

Silas laughed, feeling more himself than he had in ages. David, again, being everywhere and knowing everything as always. Of fucking course. “Oh it’s fine, Tory, or it will be. If you keep apologising so prettily, I might even let you make it up to me.”

Dom’s eyes flared with heat as he sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving Silas’s face. “Please, you can’t. Someone will come. Don’t.”

He traced his fingers along Dom’s cheek before curling them into his hair. “No one is coming to save you, Tory. David’s seen to that.”

~

_to create a little flower is the labour of ages_

A house in London, with Dom, who loved him and wanted him and was on his knees for him. It was everything he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> CW: the summary intentionally implies sex between Silas and David... and there isn't any. there is sex, and Silas and David are both in this fic, but the two things are separate. there is a moment when Silas thinks he's being forced to be unfaithful to Dom, but it turns out to be something else happening. no actual infidelity happens. lots of intimacy tho.
> 
> * * *
> 
> as I was writing this I re-read the Blake poem "Proverbs of Hell" in search of a title and was struck with what felt to me like a certain synergy between the lines of the poem and the path Silas's thoughts follow in this. hopefully it works 😅 the text in the blockquote is from Blake's poem "The Argument" and both poems are in "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell"
> 
> * * *
> 
> thank you, arsenic, for this delightful prompt and the excuse to revisit these characters I love. both Silas and David are so bad at admitting vulnerability and so intent on being the caregiver that I legit flipped a coin to decide which of them would be forced (sort of) to ~receive~ care. I hope you enjoy! 💚


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